The messenger at last made his way through the tumult to the person he was in search of, and he heard that the boat had started at the appointed time, and that it must have gone astray in the creeks of Saint Louis and Sainte Marguerite.  This was, in fact, exactly what had happened.

By five o’clock M. Marouin had reported the news to his brother and the king.  It was bad news.  The king had no courage left to defend his life even by flight, he was in a state of prostration which sometimes overwhelms the strongest of men, incapable of making any plan for his own safety, and leaving M. Marouin to do the best he could.  Just then a fisherman was coming into harbour singing.  Marouin beckoned to him, and he came up.

Marouin began by buying all the man’s fish; then, when he had paid him with a few coins, he let some gold glitter before his eyes, and offered him three louis if he would take a passenger to the brig which was lying off the Croix-des-Signaux.  The fisherman agreed to do it.  This chance of escape gave back Murat all his strength; he got up, embraced Marouin, and begged him to go to the queen with the volume of Voltaire.  Then he sprang into the boat, which instantly left the shore.

It was already some distance from the land when the king stopped the man who was rowing and signed to Marouin that he had forgotten something.  On the beach lay a bag into which Murat had put a magnificent pair of pistols mounted with silver gilt which the queen had given him, and which he set great store on.  As soon as he was within hearing he shouted his reason for returning to his host.  Marouin seized the valise, and without waiting for Murat to land he threw it into the boat; the bag flew open, and one of the pistols fell out.  The fisherman only glanced once at the royal weapon, but it was enough to make him notice its richness and to arouse his suspicions.  Nevertheless, he went on rowing towards the frigate.  M. Marouin seeing him disappear in the distance, left his brother on the beach, and bowing once more to the king, returned to the house to calm his wife’s anxieties and to take the repose of which he was in much need.

Two hours later he was awakened.  His house was to be searched in its turn by soldiers.  They searched every nook and corner without finding a trace of the king.  Just as they were getting desperate, the brother came in; Maroum smiled at him; believing the king to be safe, but by the new-comer’s expression he saw that some fresh misfortune was in the wind.  In the first moment’s respite given him by his visitors he went up to his brother.

“Well,” he said, “I hope the king is on board?”

“The king is fifty yards away, hidden in the outhouse.”

“Why did he come back?”

“The fisherman pretended he was afraid of a sudden squall, and refused to take him off to the brig.”

“The scoundrel!”

The soldiers came in again.